Just a Little Bit of Fun
by Crysania
Summary: Tumblr prompt for the Ambiguously Gay Rumple series (Well That Was Awkward and the remixes): Jefferson starts trying to make people think they're lovers just to mess with Rumple. Follows An Honest Mistake.


"So you really thought…" Jefferson starts to ask and Belle just makes a face.

"Well, you _do_ dress awfully flamboyantly," she points out.

"I dress _well_ ," Jefferson responds with a sniff. "And I have better taste than the Dark One," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Belle just crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at the much taller man. It's been a few weeks since things came out in the open and she and Rumplestiltskin are still finding their way in the world. Together. This wasn't quite what she had expected when she went with him. Truth be told _nothing_ was as she expected.

She didn't miss the innuendo in his voice that day he came to help her people. _My rather large estate_. She and the others had no doubt as to what he meant.

But then weeks went by and he never touched her.

And then there had been Jefferson.

She had put two and two together and come up with a number that was not even close to four. She'd be embarrassed by it but it had ended well at least. Even if Rumplestiltskin sometimes mutters underneath his breath and tries to tone down the strange hand gestures and the errant giggles.

But Jefferson. Well, this is the first he's gotten wind of it.

"You dress _too_ well," Belle points out. Men in her village wore rough-hewn clothes. They didn't wear long leather jackets and fancily-tied cravats or top hats. It's the latter, really, that made her wonder.

"I suppose there would be advantages to being the Dark One's lover," Jefferson says, hand stroking his chin.

Belle giggles when he turns to look at her. _Giggles_. She's not the giggling sort. Far too serious, her father always told her. Nose in a book, head involved in processing her research. But something about Rumplestiltskin makes her _happy_. "We're not that," she says and can feel her cheeks heat. She supposes it's not any of his business, but she doesn't want him to think _things_ about her.

Though propriety ought to be damned, really. She lives with the Dark One. Does anyone really think she's untouched? And yet she still feels like she has to tell _someone_ that things have not progressed so far.

Not that she hasn't thought about them progressing that far.

She won't tell Jefferson _that_ at least.

They wander by a booth with scarves draped over the table and Jefferson stops to admire them for a moment, picking one up, running it through his hands over and over again. It _is_ lovely, truly. But he sets it down anyway and turns to walk away.

The proprietor of the booth was having none of that though. A walking stick comes out and hits him rather hard in the stomach. Belle lets out a little yelp at the same time Jefferson grunts. "Just where did you think you were going, boy?" the elderly man behind the walking stick asks. His eyes are narrowed on her flamboyant companion.

"I have no interest in your wares, old man," Jefferson says and attempts to push the stick out of his way.

"You sure spent enough time getting your grubby hands all over it. I think it's stained." The man gives a little sneer and Belle _knows_ there was no truth behind his words.

As Jefferson tries to move away, the man wields his walking stick again. Like a weapon. He might be small, he might look frail, but there's nothing infirm about the fierce look in his eyes. He'll defend his wares, even against a man much younger and much larger than him.

She worries for Jefferson but as he leans toward the man, she sees that little glint, that little bit of mischief and _oh no_ , she's almost certain she knows what he's planning. She doesn't know him _well,_ but she's seen quite enough of his sometimes naughty sense of humor to expect he's not _planning_ something here.

"Do you really want to do this, old man? I mean, if the Dark One found out…" He lets the words trail off.

"The Dark One?" The elderly man's voice falters over the words and his eyes scan the crowd around them, as if simply speaking his title would bring Rumplestiltskin's wrath down upon him.

"Oh yes," Jefferson says and leans forward a little bit more. "I'm his _close personal friend_ …if you know what I mean." He says the words in a stage whisper, but the crowd that is drawing ever closer can certainly hear them. Jefferson is not shy after all, and he seems to buck propriety every chance he gets.

She apparently has put ideas in his head.

It was only natural to assume after all.

She _really_ shouldn't have told him about her mistake.

The grin on his face is evil, naughty, and when the man backs up a pace, eyes wide, Jefferson's smile widens.

The scarf suddenly is tossed at Jefferson. "I don't want no trouble," the elderly man says. "Give that to your…"

"My lover?" Jefferson asks, all innocence.

The man throws his hands up in the air and hobbles off.

" _Jefferson_ ," Belle hisses.

"You love it and you know it," he says and drops a kiss on her cheek.

She sighs as he heads off further into the market, scarf draped around his neck like some prize he's won.

Each vendor they visit gets the same treatment and with each horrified reaction, each _Please take this and give this to your lover, please tell him to leave us in peace_ , Belle has to admit that she starts to find it all rather amusing.

 _She_ is the one who's truly with Rumplestiltskin. And yet it's Jefferson who is getting all the attention. She trails behind him as if she's _his_ maid and not the Dark One's…well…she supposes she's no mere maid now.

The baker offers them cinnamon rolls as they approach and Jefferson gladly takes one for each of them. A farmer offers them fresh eggs and he takes a dozen, carefully placing them in a basket. The woman with the yarn races off before they can even get close, shouting to take what they will and may the Gods have mercy on their souls. Jefferson takes a skein of yarn and suggests decorating his hat with it.

Belle feels guilty.

They have the gold to pay. Rumplestiltskin makes sure of it. But Jefferson doesn't care for that. It's become a game to him.

And so she shouldn't find it funny but the reactions get more and more over the top as they go about their day. And Jefferson's tales about his exploits with Rumplestiltskin get more and more explicit as they go on.

 _Oh yes, well, don't wander into the woods late at night, you never know what you'll see._

 _Yes his scales do go all the way down there._

 _I'm quite the artist, would you like to see a drawing I did of that part of his anatomy?_

Belle doesn't know if Jefferson can draw. And she hopes not. But the thought of him producing such a drawing has her choking back a giggle.

"I knew you'd get into the swing of things, Belle!" Jefferson says and his smile almost manic. "Come on, let's go get us some free ale and maybe one of those meat pies that Rumple is so fond of."

"I thought he hated them," Belle mutters as she follows him.

"Not so, my dear," he responds with and waves a hand in the air. He's really playing up the whole effeminate thing, more so than usual even. "There was this crazy lady…"

"Say no more," Belle says and laughs again.

Jefferson really is good for the soul. In a rather naughty _we're getting away with things we shouldn't be getting away with_ way.

And so they head to the local pub. Everyone gets out of Jefferson's way and she's not sure if it's because they think he's fond of men or if it's because they think he's the Dark One's lover. Maybe both. The rumors are spreading far and wide. Quickly. She can hear people whispering even now. They think they're quiet, but they're not. She hears some of them loud and clear.

They are all afraid.

Or curious.

A few are angry and Jefferson manages to avoid two monks who are headed their way with an amazing amount of grace. Belle's envious of that, really. She's always been clumsy, nearly killed herself on a ladder at the Dark Castle and that was _not_ the first disaster that had almost befallen her in her time with Rumplestiltskin.

It's a good thing he's a sorcerer, really. Otherwise she'd probably have died any number of times in his castle.

When they arrive at the pub, everyone looks up and with a couple well-placed whispers, the place is near deserted. The man who steps out of the back looks annoyed but then puts a smile on his face that's just a little bit too wide, the corners of his mouth hard. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Only thing worse than the Dark One," he starts to mutter but Jefferson steps closer and gives him a pointed look. "Sorry good sir, what can I get for you?" the man asks and there's a slight falter in his voice as he speaks.

Belle giggles.

"Two of your finest ales, sir," Jefferson announces and sits on one of the stools. He waves at Belle and she does so as well. She doesn't even _like_ ale, not really at least. But it's what Jefferson wants and so she'll go along with it.

This might just be getting out of hand.

But she drinks her ale anyway and eats her meat pie and hops off the stool to follow Jefferson back out into the crowd.

And then she _knows_ it's getting out of hand when there are shouts and Rumplestiltskin appears in a puff of smoke in front of them.

"Rumple, darling!" Jefferson calls and waves at the sorcerer, a slight movement of his wrist.

Belle tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.

Rumplestiltskin doesn't say anything at first, just watches the pair of them. Jefferson prances over, a movement almost worthy of the weird prancing Rumplestiltskin sometimes does and she watches as the sorcerer narrows his eyes at the other man.

"I thought you were coming much earlier," Jefferson says and bats his eyelashes at Rumplestiltskin.

The sorcerer's nose scrunches up slightly and Belle puts her hand over her mouth. She won't laugh. She _won't_.

"What are you doing?" Rumplestiltskin snaps at Jefferson as the other man moves closer. When Jefferson reaches out to put a hand on his arm, attempting to trace down to his hand, the sorcerer skitters back. As if he's been burned. As if he wants to be anywhere but there.

The crowd around them gives them a wide berth, but they're watching. Some stare, eyes wide, others send sidelong glances at them, attempting to hide their watching with their hands. They're obvious though. Perhaps even more so than those who are being less careful about it.

No one wants to be turned into a snail. Or a slug. Or something equally disgusting. And then stomped on. She's heard the rumors after all, even if she's never seen it herself.

"Darling, I'm _offended_ ," Jefferson says, hand to heart. "We've had this _date_ set up for three days and you just simply forget."

Rumplestiltskin glares at him.

 _Glares_.

If it were anyone else besides Jefferson they'd be running for the hills.

But he doesn't. Instead he pouts.

And moves closer.

Runs his hand down Rumplestiltskin's chest.

The sorcerer growls something incoherent and Jefferson flies back and away from him, pushed by his magic rather than his hands. Rumplestiltskin's eyes are narrowed. Jefferson's are wide.

"So that's how he treats his lovers," Belle hears one woman mutter and she has to bite back a laugh.

Rumplestiltskin rounds on Belle and points one long, clawed finger at her. "This is all _your_ fault."

Belle lets out a laugh. She doesn't mean to. It's just that his hair is sticking out on end and his face is screwed up in _just that way_ and she knows he won't actually harm _her_. And it's all so bloody ridiculous that the laugh escapes before she can choke it back.

Rumplestiltskin's face turns an odd shade of…well, Belle can't quite describe it. Sort of purple, with a tint of green, and a little bit of blue hidden underneath it. It's not a shade she's seen before and frankly, that in and of itself is interesting.

But then the sorcerer in question growls something entirely incoherent and disappears. No fanfare. No smoke. He's just _gone_.

She can hear the crowd around her breathe a sigh of relief.

And she no longer can hold the laughter back. She's doubled over, can barely breathe, when Jefferson stumbles over to her. "You can laugh all you want, my dear. But it appears we need to find our _own_ way back to the Dark Castle."

Belle laughs again. For a moment at least. Before she realizes he's right. It's going to be a _long_ trek back to the castle and she's pretty sure her shoes are not the enchanted ones that make for easy walking. She's pretty sure if they _were_ , they aren't _now_.

"It's worth it, though," she says to Jefferson as she links arms with him and listens to the crowd's titters around her.

Jefferson nods. "He really does need to develop a sense of humor about these things."

"Indeed," Belle murmurs as the pair set off on the long walk back to the castle.


End file.
